A New Twist On An Old Game
by dcat8888
Summary: Milt reinvents a game with a twist.


A new twist on an old game

By dcat

(I do not own the characters of Hardcastle and McCormick.)

Dark gray clouds floated over the night time sky, as Milt stepped out of the house. He closed the door quietly behind him and stood on the step for a brief moment and took a deep breath of the moist, night air. He glanced up at the sky and got a brief look at near-full moon, before another dark cloud covered it over.

He hadn't done what he was about to do for a very long time, but after tonight's dinner conversation with McCormick, he had given some thought to this current dilemma and thought this just might be the answer. He hoped it would work.

Slowly he made his way down the familiar drive.

In the gatehouse, McCormick had begrudgingly given in to a restless sleep. He really only was dozing, because every ten or twenty minutes he was waking up, rolling over, getting angrier, more frustrated and repeating that same sequence over and over.

And then it began. The noise.

Thud, thud, thud. That repetitive sound. Thud, thud, thud, swish.

McCormick woke up and grabbed the pillow and wrapped it around his curly-haired head a little tighter. He dozed for a minute or so.

Thud, thud, thud, swish.

This time McCormick shot up in bed. "What the hell?" he said out loud to the empty room. He listened again to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. He heard the same sound. The sound he remembered from a few years earlier, but hadn't heard it now for at least a year, at least not at this hour.

He pushed off the blanket and went and stood by the window, rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Glancing down, he saw Hardcastle out on the basketball court. He knocked on the window to get his attention. Hardcastle fired up another shot and retrieved the ball and went on with his routine. McCormick rapped a little harder on the window and shouted. "Hardcase, I'm trying to sleep up here. Knock it off, would ya!"

Hardcastle ignored it all and kept shooting baskets.

McCormick shook his head and spied his shoes in the corner and quickly slid into them and headed downstairs, mumbling to himself all the while, "I knew it, dementia is setting in, it's just been a matter of time with this guy."

McCormick started talking the moment he stepped outside the gatehouse. "Judge," he began, "It's 2:30 in the morning, what's the matter? You haven't resorted to disrupting my sleep this way for years, what's going on tonight of all nights that's making you drive me crazy? You need some warm milk maybe? Or how about a couple of sleeping pills? Seriously, what can I do to make you stop this?" The Judge kept shooting. "Judge? What is going on?"

"I just felt like shooting baskets," Milt said, not missing a beat or a shot.

"You just felt like it?" Mark repeated, trying to stay calm, "why tonight Judge? You know my mind needs some rest. I got a big day tomorrow."

"I know," Milt said.

"Well, if you know, can you stop please?"

Milt bounced a pass over the McCormick. Mark caught it and held onto it, looking exasperated. The Judge didn't speak a word, he just looked McCormick up and down.

"What?" Mark asked him, letting the irritation into his voice.

"Shoot," Milt said.

"I don't wanna shoot Judge, I wanna sleep." McCormick dropped the ball and turned to go back inside.

Milt picked up the ball and gently threw it as his back, just to get his attention again.

Mark stopped but didn't turn around. "Judge," he paused, "Not tonight okay?"

Hardcastle walked toward him, picked up the ball and said, "Yep, exactly tonight." He reached out, grabbed McCormick by the arm and put the ball into his hands. "Get over here and shoot."

Mark spun around and fired up a one-handed shot, smashing into the backboard with an obvious miss. "Are you happy? I'm going to bed."

"Listen McCormick, would you try this, just fifteen minutes, that's all."

"How is this going to help?" Mark said, waving his arms toward the basketball hoop. "What is this, the Hardcastle Hoop theory for passing the bar exam? You've never told me about this before." McCormick chuckled.

"You're still a smart aleck you know, now get over here," Milt gestured. McCormick reluctantly walked over and Milt tossed him the ball. "Shoot," Milt said, tossing the ball to him. "Nice and easy."

'This is stupid," Mark said.

"Shut up and shoot," the Judge replied.

McCormick dribbled a few times and clanked the ball off the rim. "See? Dumb!"

"That's okay, you just gotta warm up," Milt said, retrieving the ball again and tossing it back to him. "Try it again."

"I just gotta sleep," McCormick corrected him.

The Judge gave him a glare.

This time McCormick exhaled, dribbled again and swished up an easy lob right through the net. A hint of a smile came to his lips.

"There you go," Milt said, rebounding the ball, and passing it back to him. This went on for a few minutes. Neither one of them spoke a word. Finally Milt asked him, "Alright, now tell me about Shackles vs. the City of Denver,"

Mark stopped mid-dribble. "What?"

"Don't stop shooting, keep the rhythm going," Milt repeated, "just tell me about Shackles vs. the City of Denver."

McCormick put his head down and dribbled. He closed his eyes for a split second and let his head fill up with everything it knew about the case. As he shot, he began to tell the Judge all that he knew.

The Judge simply gathered up the ball, tossed it back to him, and proceeded to drill him about various cases and the law in general.

After about an hour, the Judge held the ball.

"Come on, toss it back," Mark asked, now wanting more.

"Nope, that's enough. You're ready."

McCormick wiped his brow, having a bit of sweat on his face. He grinned from ear to ear.

"You know you just hit 110 shots in a row?" Milt asked him.

"Really?"

"Yes really, McCormick, and you know this stuff inside and out. Now go to bed, you're ready for the bar tomorrow, er, later today. You just need to sleep now. Get outta here."

"But," Mark began.

"No buts McCormick, you answered everything I asked and you drained 110 shots, for once in your life, would you trust me? Go to bed."

McCormick nodded his agreement. "You're going inside too right?"

"Of course I am, you didn't really think I liked doing this sort of thing in the middle of the night do ya?"

"Goodnight Judge," Mark said, walking toward the gatehouse. "Thanks," he added. "You might want to patent this new game of yours, Hardcastle's Hoops for the bar exam."

"Now you're cookin' kiddo," Hardcastle replied.

The End


End file.
